


Immortal

by owarijanai



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Body Horror, Buddhism, Folklore, Japan, M/M, Shinto, Slow Burn, Yôkai, its minor though, japanese lore, kami - Freeform, really fucking slow hold on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-21 23:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15568818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owarijanai/pseuds/owarijanai
Summary: Yuta was just an imaginary friend from his childhood, a coping mechanism for when Sicheng was moved from his hometown in China to Asahikawa, Japan. So when Sicheng goes back to Asahikawa years later to visit his parents, he thinks little of the strange imaginary friend from when he was a child. After all, that's all Yuta was--an imaginary friend and nothing more.Nothing more.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in my head for a long time, so I'm really excited to write this, and I hope you all enjoy!!
> 
> p.s. come join me on twitter @blood_stardust

The woods were cool and deep and dark.

 

Sicheng wasn’t sure how long he ran, but he didn’t care. He thought he could still hear his parents calling for him, and that just made him run harder.

 

“ _Sicheng!_ ”

 

He dodged around a large tree, only to trip over the root and fall, scraping his knees. Sicheng hissed in pain as blood bubbled up, feeling tears well in his eyes. If they hadn’t moved to this stupid country in the first place, he wouldn’t be here with scraped-up knees, lost in the woods outside Asahikawa.

 

Lost.

 

Sicheng looked up, realizing that he had no idea which way was the way back.

 

_Lost._

 

He couldn’t hear his parents’ voices anymore, and suddenly he was afraid. He didn’t speak the language here; even if someone found him, he wouldn’t be able to tell them what had happened or who his parents were. Sicheng began to cry—great, gulping sobs, wiping at his face in vain to try and get rid of the evidence. He didn’t usually cry. He didn’t like how it made him feel.

 

“Why are you crying?”

 

Sicheng looked up with a gasp, his tears stilling. A young boy with hair like sunlight stood before him. His eyes were soft, crinkled around the corners, and he tilted his head to the side, regarding Sicheng with curiosity.

 

“I-I’m not crying,” Sicheng denied.

 

“… Yes, you are.”

 

The boy looked Japanese, but he was speaking Mandarin. “You speak Chinese?” Sicheng asked.

 

“Sort of.”

 

“Sort of?”

 

“My name is Yuta.” The boy bent down, glancing at his bloody knees. “You’re hurt.”

 

“I-I’m okay.”

 

“What’s your name?”

 

He sniffled. “Dong Sicheng.”

 

“Are you lost?”

 

Again, Sicheng wanted to deny it, but he figured there was no reason to. He _was_ lost, and maybe this boy—Yuta—could help him find his way back. He’d decided that maybe running away wasn’t really the best option. He’d miss his parents too much, and he hadn’t really thought of that before.

 

He just wanted to go home.

 

“Yes.”

 

Yuta held out his hand. Sicheng took it, grunting as he was pulled to his feet. Despite his lanky frame, Yuta was stronger than he looked.

 

“I don’t have anything to clean your cuts with,” Yuta said, glancing at Sicheng’s scraped knees, “So let’s just get you home, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Yuta led him through the forest, not seeming to be bothered as the sun set and it began to grow darker. Shadows stretched through the undergrowth, and Sicheng felt all turned around, but Yuta continued on, confident. Eventually, they reached the edge of the forest. Sicheng saw a familiar landscape below—the town his parents moved him to, Asahikawa.

 

“There,” Yuta said.

 

“ _Sicheng!_ ”

 

Startled, Sicheng turned to see his parents running toward him. His mother had tears in her eyes as she scooped him up into her arms, his father standing stern and silent nearby. Sicheng stayed quiet as they checked him all over and promised to bandage his cuts, explaining that they’d been looking for him all over, but when they began to pull him away from the forest’s edge, he resisted.

 

“Sicheng, let’s go home,” his mother said.

 

“But, Yuta—” he said, turning, only to see that Yuta was gone.

 

Vanished.

 

“Yuta?” his father echoed. “Who’s Yuta?”

 

“He—he helped me find my way back. He was just right there.”

 

“There wasn’t ever anyone there, sweetie,” his mother said.

 

“But …”

 

“Let’s go home,” his father said, taking his other hand.

 

Sicheng went with his parents, glancing back over his shoulder every few steps, but no one stood at the edge of the forest. If he peered closer, he thought he could just make out a dim shape in the darkness of the woods.

 

Staring back at him.


	2. Retrograde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“I am so ready for you, ya know,_   
>  _(it is true, it is true.)_   
>  _I’m immortal when I’m dreaming of you.”_
> 
> —“Immortal”, Benjamin Francis Leftwich

_13 years later_

 

The flight from Osaka to Asahikawa had not been long, barely two hours, but Sicheng felt stiff and sore anyway. He was used to subways and bullet trains, to getting from one place to the other in less than thirty minutes. Flights just never went well for him—he always got someone snoring in his ear or was sat beside a crying baby or something.

 

This flight alone had seen the guy sitting next to him flop his head on Sicheng’s shoulder, forcing the young man to shift closer to the window just to get him off. The guy hadn’t even noticed when Sicheng gently pushed his head in the other direction. _Annoying._

His parents weren’t meeting him at the airport, but that was fine. Sicheng remembered how to get to their old house. He was just glad to be off that plane. Carting his carry-on along with him, Sicheng headed out the gate and down to the baggage claim, afterwards grabbing a taxi to take him from one side of the city to the other.

 

Asahikawa was a good-sized city. Nothing compared to Osaka or Tokyo, but still beautiful. The city itself was surrounded by snow-capped mountains in hazy shades of blue, and it snowed there more often than not, making it a perfect holiday destination. During the summer, however, it was just as hot and humid as the rest of Japan, leaving Sicheng wiping at his brow even in the air-conditioned taxi.

 

His parents lived on the opposite end of the city from the airport, far enough on the outskirts to be considered the country without actually leaving Asahikawa. Sicheng remembered their two-story, traditional Japanese style house from while he was growing up, with its rice paper sliding doors, tatami mats, and hardwood floors. His parents wanted him to get the full Japanese experience, or something—as if living there and going to school there wasn’t enough.

 

The fare for the taxi wasn’t too bad when they arrived; just about what he’d expected. Sicheng paid and grabbed his luggage as he climbed out, waving goodbye to the driver before turning toward the house.

 

He hadn’t seen it in years, but it was as if he’d never left. He could still remember running through the halls in his house slippers, pretending Yuta—his imaginary friend at the time—was right there beside him.

 

“Sicheng!”

 

That was his mother, coming out of the front door with a smile on her face. Gray hairs were starting to show at her temples, and there were lines around her eyes and mouth. It caught Sicheng off-guard.

 

_It’s only been a few years._

 

Even though they lived in the same country, Sicheng’s journalism job took him all over the world, leaving him with little free time to do anything else. This summer was the first time he’d been able to take advantage of his paid vacation days, and he was prepared to dedicate all of them to the parents he had not seen since he left for Osaka that day in June three years ago.

 

Dropping his luggage on the front stoop, Sicheng leaned down to hug his mother, inhaling the scent of incense that clung to her clothes. Same as always. His parents were rather devout Buddhists, and even though Sicheng cared little for religion, the smell of incense always calmed him and took him back to his childhood.

 

“How was your flight?” his mother asked.

 

“It was fine.” It felt odd speaking Mandarin again. When he wasn’t travelling, he was in Osaka, speaking Japanese easily after years of doing so. But his parents always spoke Mandarin with him, even now. “Short, kind of cramped, but no big deal.”

 

She smiled. “I made dinner. Come on in. Your father is setting the table.”

 

Sicheng followed her into the house, taking his shoes off in the foyer and grabbing a pair of house slippers. She first led him upstairs to his old bedroom so he could drop off his bags, then back down to the kitchen, as if he’d forgotten where everything was. He hadn’t. He could never forget.

 

His father had finished setting the table by the time they got to the dining room, and he gave Sicheng a hug, patting him heartily on the back.

 

“How’s work?”

 

“Good. I just got back from Canada a few day ago.”

 

“Ooh,” his mother said. “Did you learn any French or English?”

 

“A bit. Just some phrases.”

 

Things went on like that for a while as they ate dinner and reminisced about times past. His mother, embarrassingly, had to bring up his obsession with his imaginary friend, Yuta, from when he was younger, leaving Sicheng feeling like a kid again. His father just laughed good-naturedly and asked if Sicheng wanted to watch TV with him for a bit. Normally, Sicheng would have said yes, but he was still tired from his Canada trip and from his flight there, so he tapped out early, heading to bed before the sun had fully set.

 

It was strange being back in his old bedroom. His mother had made his bed up for him already, so Sicheng just brushed his teeth and then climbed under the covers.

 

_Sicheng, let’s play!_

 

He fell asleep with memories of his childhood washing over him, of his time at school, and of Yuta—that strange imaginary friend he hadn’t thought of in years, until now.

 

_Yuta._

 

 

 

 

 

His parents wanted to go to dinner with him that night, but until then, Sicheng was given free reign of Asahikawa. So he spent the morning and afternoon wandering its streets, ducking into small shops and buying little trinkets for some of his friends back in Osaka.

 

When the sun was high in the sky, he took a cab back to his parents’ house, but his father was still at work, and his mother was taking a nap, so he decided to go for a quick walk around the countryside.

 

Japanese farmland was some of the most beautiful land he’d ever seen, and Asahikawa’s countryside was no different. Rolling hills of rice fields and trees dotted with ancient, tiny shrines abounded, and Sicheng found himself stopping at each shrine to inspect the incense and offerings left behind. It seemed none of them were ignored by the people there, as the offerings were fresh and the incense was still burning at every one.

 

_Jinja_ , the Japanese word for shrine, was his favorite word in the language. It seemed to evoke an odd sort of reverence. He whispered it to himself as he approached one of the larger shrines—this one flanked by two _kitsune_ and sporting a red _torii_ gate as well. Sicheng passed beneath the gate and imagined, even despite his lack of faith, feeling a change in the air.

 

He washed his hands at the small bowl full of water, rang the bell above the shrine, and then clapped his hands together and bowed his head in prayer. At first, he was just going to pray for his parents and for his trip back to Osaka in a couple weeks, but then another thought popped into his head.

 

_Yuta._

He’d had an odd dream the night before, that Yuta had saved him, rescued him from the forest outside Asahikawa. But Yuta was just his imaginary friend from when he was a kid. Right?

 

_If Yuta is real, let me see him again._

 

Sicheng opened his eyes.

 

Nothing.

 

He let out a sigh, confused and frustrated with himself. _What was I thinking?_ Yuta was just an imaginary friend, nothing more. His nostalgia-addled mind must have just dredged up a dream and slotted him into it. Sicheng stepped back from the shrine, wiping his hands on his pants, and walked out from under the _torii_.

 

As a child, he had always wanted to believe in magic. In the supernatural.

 

But he was not a child anymore.

 

“Sicheng!”

 

He froze.

 

A young man, around his age, was coming up the path toward the fox-shrine. He had feathery-blond hair and eyes like the sky at midnight, and when he smiled, his whole face seemed to light up like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

 

Sicheng could not breathe.

 

“… Yuta.”

 

It was definitely him.

 

Many years had passed, but Sicheng would recognize those eyes anywhere, and that hair—like sunlight. Yuta was older now, with a strong jaw and a frame more slim than lanky as he had been before, but it was still him. Sicheng fell back a step, colliding with a column of the _torii_ gate behind him and feeling panic wedge itself into his gut.

 

“You’re not real.”

 

Yuta frowned. “Of course I am.”

 

“You—you _can’t_ be.” His voice went high, spurred on by confusion.

 

“Don’t you remember all that time we used to play together as kids?” Yuta moved closer, near enough to reach out and touch Sicheng. “And when we first met? When I helped you find your way out of the forest?”

 

“N-no, that was … I _imagined_ you.”

 

“Did you?” He was so close, just inches away. Sicheng couldn’t catch his breath. It was lodged in his chest, trapped. And then Yuta leaned in farther and it all came back in a rush—too hard, too fast. Sicheng brought his hands up, an automatic reaction, pushing Yuta away from him hard enough to make the taller male stumble.

 

He was real. Solid.

 

And he looked at Sicheng now with hurt in his dark eyes.

 

“Sicheng …”

 

“Stay away from me,” Sicheng gasped.

 

Yuta took a step closer. Something changed behind his eyes as he did, something wild and free and timelessly old, and Sicheng whimpered.

 

“Sicheng,” Yuta said again. “I’m not going to hurt you. We were playmates. Don’t you remember?”

 

He shook his head. “No. No, you _can’t be real_. No one else ever saw you. I—I’m going insane.” Sicheng put his head in his hands. “Oh my God, I’m going insane.”

 

“You’re not going insane.” Yuta surged forward, taking Sicheng’s hands in his. “I’m real. Just as real as you. But not everyone can see me.”

 

“Wh-what?” Yuta’s hands were cold.

 

“Well.” Yuta smiled. “I’m _yokai_.”


	3. Yokai

_Yokai._

 

The Japanese demons and gods of lore, the fables of _oni_ and _kami_. The old Shinto beliefs held to the ideas of yokai, of creatures in the woods and mountains and pathways who guarded old shrines and lured wayward humans into the forests like the fae of Ireland, but Sicheng had never believed in all that. Magic and supernatural creatures didn’t exist.

 

And yet.

 

Here was Yuta, standing before him, obviously knowing him, remembering their time together as children.

 

_How?_

 

Sicheng opened his mouth a few times, only to shut it just as quickly. Yuta was still holding onto his hands. It was strange how cold his skin was. But if he was a creature of spirit, then that would make sense. Sicheng pulled away and rubbed at his wrists. Again, Yuta looked hurt.

 

“I’m not going to harm you,” he said. “I’m just a lowly _ki no ke_. A spirit of the forest.”

 

“H-how can I see you if no one else can?”

 

“You must have the gift.”

 

“Gift?”

 

“The gift of sight.”

 

Sicheng didn’t know why he was acting like he was going along with this ridiculousness. “You—you can’t be real,” he said again.

 

Yuta moved closer and took his hand. Sicheng felt the _torii_ gate at his back and quailed, knowing he couldn’t get away. This situation was getting out of control. He could see now that the sun was setting, drawing shadows through the forest, elongating the _jinja_ behind him until it looked strange and warped in the twilight.

 

“Please,” he said.

 

Yuta frowned. “Sicheng, really. I just … you called out to me. You asked to see me again.”

 

_If Yuta is real, let me see him again._

 

“B-but … I didn’t think …”

 

“You didn’t think I would answer?”

 

“I didn’t think you _could_.”

 

“But I did, and here I am.”

 

Sicheng shook his head. “I—I can’t.” He pulled back and moved away from Yuta, away from the _torii_ gate and the shrine behind him, away from all this. Yuta watched him, unmoving, his eyes full of that strange ancientness again.

 

And Sicheng broke into a run.

 

Back down the path, past the smaller shrines along the forest’s edge, to his parent’s house on the outskirts of Asahikawa. He ran the whole way, uncaring of the people who stared at him as he flew past, out-of-breath and panicked. He didn’t stop until he was standing on the front porch of his old house, panting heavily.

 

_Yuta._

 

This couldn’t be happening.

 

Now that he was out of the forest, away from the ancient shrine with its _torii_ and _kitsune_ guardians, things felt different. There was light from the setting sun on the back of his neck, and everything was more real, more solid, as if he’d been walking through some odd dream-state for the past hour or so. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

 

His parents were home and awake now, his mother cooking dinner as his father set the table. Sicheng pretended everything was okay as he helped get ready for the evening meal, even going so far as to laugh and reminisce with his parents as he had the night before, but everything felt off. Kind of like the world had shifted to one side, revealing things previously unknown.

 

_The gift of sight._

 

Now that Sicheng thought about it, he’d made up all sorts of magical creatures when he was younger, imagining them playing with him and Yuta in the forest, in the backyard of his house, hopping across rivers and streams and letting Yuta tell him the names of each creature—the mischievous _kappa_ who lived in the waters, the will-o-wisps of the forest, the _obake_ shapeshifters and bird-like _tengu_ and the _tsukumogami._ When he got older, Sicheng just thought he’d read all those terms in books or heard them while going to school in Asahikawa, but they were all types of _yokai._

 

Like Yuta.

 

He went to bed that night seeing shapes in every shadow, monsters in the darkness, and his dreams were full of lore.

 

 

 

 

 

The sun woke him.

 

Sicheng opened his eyes, slow and sleepy. It had taken him a while to get to sleep the night before, but in the morning light, none of that seemed like a problem. Maybe it had all just been a dream. He pushed himself up out of bed, sliding on his house slippers, and yawned. Breakfast first, then maybe he would take a walk as he had the day before.

 

There wasn’t much to do by oneself in Asahikawa, and until the weekend rolled around, his father was otherwise occupied. Sicheng didn’t want to leave him out of activities, so he and his mother had decided to just wait for the weekend for their family outings.

 

He chatted with his parents over breakfast and cups of coffee, wishing his father a good day as he left for work, and then took a shower and got dressed for the day. He was feeling more relaxed than he ever had in Osaka, and, all phenomena aside, was quite enjoying his stay in Asahikawa.

 

Then he left the house.

 

A familiar figure stood by the front gate, his eyes dark even in the sunlight, and Sicheng felt everything in him go still.

 

“Sicheng,” Yuta said, “Can we please talk?”

 

“No.”

 

“I just want to understand.”

 

Sicheng glanced around him to make sure no one was watching. “Understand _what_? You’re not real. You _can’t_ be.”

 

“I want to understand what changed to make you believe that. We used to play with the other _yokai._ Don’t you remember? There was Madoru the _obake_ and the tengu _Sei-chan_ , and your favorite, _Reita_ the _kappa_. You can’t have forgotten them.”

 

Sicheng hadn’t, but he wasn’t about to tell Yuta that. “They were just childhood fantasies.”

 

“And is that what I am? Standing here, talking to you?” Something in Yuta’s expression shifted, something inhuman. The air around him seemed to shiver. Then he was in front of Sicheng, just inches away. “If I am not real, could I touch you? Could you feel me?”

 

Sicheng cried out and backpedaled at the sudden proximity, nearly falling onto his back in the dirt, but Yuta was there to catch him by the arms and pull him back. Sicheng felt his breath quicken.

 

“Would I be able to do _this_?”

 

“What—?”

 

Yuta’s lips brushed against his, soft and unsure. Sicheng couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him in response. He kissed back before he knew what he was doing, before he could even register the situation, and Yuta chuckled softly.

 

“How’s that for real?”

 

“B-but … I …” Sicheng didn’t know what to say anymore. He could still feel Yuta’s mouth against his, too real to be anything but. A wave of memories washed over him—holding Yuta’s hand as a child, letting the older boy lead him through the forest as he regaled tales of the creatures there; sitting as close as he could to Yuta on the riverbank; waiting to get out of school for the day and finding Yuta by the front gate; walking home with him and inviting him in for dinner; his parents sighing each time he mentioned Yuta and wishing he would forget about his silly imaginary friend because _aren’t you getting too old for that?_ ; pretending not to see Yuta the older he got, ignoring his friend until, eventually, he stopped seeing him.

 

“I thought you hated me,” Yuta said, his voice a whisper, “I thought you had forgotten about me or were scared of me, but now I can see that’s not true.” He reached up and ran a hand through Sicheng’s hair. “You never stopped seeing me. You just stopped trying.”

 

Sicheng felt tears burn behind his eyes. “I—I thought you were imaginary, and my parents … they wanted me to forget about you. I … I’m sorry.”

 

Yuta smiled. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. I’m real.”

 

“Sicheng!”

 

Startled, the moment broken, Sicheng pulled back from Yuta. His mother stood on the front porch of the house, holding his wallet.

 

“You almost forgot this!” she called.

 

“Oh.” Sicheng moved to take it from her, smiling. “Thanks, Mom.”

 

“Are you feeling all right, sweetie? You look kind of pale.”

 

“It’s just the heat.”

 

“If you say so.” She patted his cheek. “Go. Have fun. I’ll see you for dinner.”

 

“All right.”

 

She went back inside, not even sparing a glance for Yuta. Sicheng looked at him and wondered _why him_? Why did he have the ‘gift of sight’ or whatever if neither of his parents did?

 

“Sight usually skips a generation,” Yuta said suddenly. “Your grandparents were probably the ones who had it.”

 

“… Can you read my mind?”

 

Yuta huffed. “No. I could just see the question written all over your face.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Anyway, some people never notice they have the sight, so your grandparents might not have even known.”

 

“How?”

 

“Well, it depends on where you live. For example, cities are empty of supernatural creatures. You can only find them in the forests and mountains of the country. You’d never see our kind in Osaka or Tokyo, but here—they’re everywhere.” He shrugged. “We don’t really like cities.”

 

“My grandparents lived in Beijing.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Sicheng thought about this. “So, if I had stayed in Zhejiang, I might never have known about … all this?”

 

“Perhaps. Zhejiang has been more urbanized in the past few years, so you might have seen some growing up, but not as many as are here.”

 

“… I still can’t believe this is happening.”

 

Yuta smiled, holding out a hand to him. “Then let me show you.”

 

“Show me what?”

 

“My world.”


End file.
